


Song of Seven

by anidori_kiladra



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Dany/Missandei Friendship, Dark Fairy Tale, Dragons, F/M, Fairy tale retelling, Hurt/Comfort (platonic), Maid Maleen, Rating May Change, Slow Burn, Tags may change as story progresses, White Walkers, don't wake the dragon, not canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:09:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25996525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anidori_kiladra/pseuds/anidori_kiladra
Summary: A re-telling of Maid Maleen.Following a curse that dooms the North to an eternal winter, Daenerys and Missandei are locked in a tower as punishment for refusing the Khal's offer of marriage. Doomed to spend eternity in their prison, they find allies and romance in the most unlikely of ways.Fairy tale Jonerys+Missandei/Grey Worm
Relationships: Grey Worm/Missandei, Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 3
Kudos: 15





	Song of Seven

**Author's Note:**

> First long fic. Chapter 1+2 is alternating Dany and Missandei. Chapter 3 introduces Jon and Grey Worm. 
> 
> I love Dany, I adore Missandei, I love their relationship and I see it done so wrongly in many fics. This is a love letter to them, and to their canon romances. 
> 
> Please leave a comment+critique. I don't usually write at all, definitely not fanfic, but this idea just wouldn't let me go.

Essos, the City of Pentos, Star of R’hllor. Year 298, year of the Horse, the third moon.

In the beginning, there was darkness. Then came the song of R’hllor, which ignited the first flame and brought life to the known world and to the First Men. The song burned out all the darkness from the edges of the world, even to the far reaches of the North, and there was great joy and prosperity. The Old Gods made the world beautiful, and filled it with magic. Magic and song danced with Men and beasts alike, and there was wondrous harmony for an age. One day, a king of the North attempted to tame the magic and bend the beasts to his will. When they would not bend, he dared to build a great Wall to separate mankind from the magic and the beasts. He built a great fortress and withdrew from all the gifts the gods had bestowed upon his people. Enraged, the Old Gods cursed mankind with a terrible darkness; the darkness that comes at birth and at death. R’hllor, sore wroth and beset with anger, cursed this king even further, that for every year of summer there would come a year of winter. And every year that marked one hundred years from the day of his curse, that winter would come with a strength tenfold that of a normal winter. Thousands of years had since passed, and the North that was once a paradise was now a wasteland of ice. 

At least, that was the story old Barristan had told Dany since she was a child. Dany could not remember a moment of darkness; where she searched in her memory for that first glimpse of blackness, there was only bright, white light. She could not fathom also the idea of a land that was all ice and snow, no summer. In all her nearly fourteen years, Dany had never so much as tasted ice or snow. She imagined them as she listened to the stories of creation, the low grumble of her tutor the background to all her mind's fantasies. 

The old knight, Barristan, gave her lessons in the solar of the noble house where she resided in Essos, where the song of R’hllor was strong. Essos was a land of riches, of burned red grasses and golden sand. For miles around, white stone houses and towers scraped against the wide blue sky like ivory fingers, each capped with a nail of gold. Lemon trees lined the streets where merchants and traders mingled, a sea of brown and blue and silver-gold. Here, there was no curse of the Old Gods. Winter never came to Essos. That was why, Barristan, explained to Dany, the noble houses and traders of Essos sailed so far, to Westeros, where winter shook the life from their people.

Dany didn’t understand how the people in the North could have angered the gods so that they would live half their lives in cold darkness. In Dany’s world, there was only warmth. The warmth of the sun on her pale shoulders and white hair, of her tame tomcat Rhaego, of the sun-ripened fruits that grew on trees just within reach outside her tower window. Even the sting of her brother’s hand was warm; the lashes stung like the little fire ants that crawled on the dusty ground underfoot.

In the great house of Illyrio Mopatis, Dany spent her days with Barristan as her shadow as she crept from room to room and sunspot to sunspot, always seeking out warmth.

“Little Princess,” Barristan would call if she tread too loudly or wandered off too far. Though she was far from a princess in her world, everyone around her reminded Dany constantly of her royal heritage. Daughter of Aerys and Rhaella, the last female Targaryen in the world. Viserys, her brother, was seven years her senior. At twenty-two, he was just as fair and graceful as she, but his countenance was often restless and his face more gaunt than her own. Viserys was her only family, and he bore the responsibility of their house alone, as Dany was too young still. This responsibility made him restless and and tired. Dany tried not to wake the dragon as best she could, but sometime she couldn't help it. It was lonely in her world, after all. 

On the day of her fourteenth nameday, Dany watched the sun rise over Pentos from her balcony. Illyrio had already left several expensive gifts on her bed for her to awaken to as a surprise. In the year they had lived there, he had showered Dany and Viserys with constant gifts and luxuries Dany had never known before. She had grown used to his customs, even if she herself did not prize jewels and silks like a Pentoshi nobleman. As young as she was, she knew it was only because of her name, and she understood her name was all she had.

The sun rose red over the white city, each building a pale pink against the yellow sky. Rhaego, curled on the railing by her hand, awoke and stretched out. Dany stroked him with a finger, lilac eyes scanning the horizon for ships approaching the harbor. On this day, the coast was clear, waters rippling gently with the tide. No great ships with foreign and exciting flags on their sails. Dany puffed out a sigh that ruffled the cat’s mottle fur. He looked up at her, then to the side with a quick glance and a hiss. Dany followed his dismay with her eyes to a dark smear on the edge of the city. She blinked and rubbed her eyes, staring hard. The smear was moving, edges shifting and rolling like a plume of smoke on the horizon. It was approaching the city border.

Before she could ponder the strange cloud further, there was a knock at the door. Viserys strode in, peering around as he always did, as if Dany was hiding things from him in her room. Since she’d become a young woman, he’d been loathe to leave her on her own, always around every corner to check on her. Dany didn’t mind it so much, but longed for the brother she’d had when she was younger. As he grew, he became harsher and more anxious, and called grander favors on Illyrio.

Barristan came behind him, his face a wall. He rarely spoke or smiled around Viserys, something that vexed her brother extremely. Her older brother did not like for Dany to have things he could not also possess. Behind the knight trailed a young girl with dark skin and eyes and a cloud of dark hair. She looked to be Dany’s age, but was waifish and walked with her eyes downcast. Dany looked from the girl to Barristan to her brother, who smiled like a fox.

“Sweet sister, I bring you gifts on your nameday.”

He waited for Dany to acknowledge his generosity, so she did, nodding her head and tilting her lips in a smile, but kept her eyes on the girl. Viserys clicked his tongue sharply.

“I have gone to great pains to secure you these gifts, sister. Look at me when I speak to you.”

Dany looked up to him and slightly to the left so that she was looking at a scar on his brow. The pale purple of his eyes uneased her. He was pleased enough though not to notice her unfocused gaze, and continued.

Gesturing for the young girl to come forward, Viserys rocked on his toes with excitement as he did only when he had done something he thought truly great. He used to do the same thing when they were children on the streets, and he’d brought fresh bread or a sweet from a vendor too idle to know when he was being robbed. It used to mean good things in bad times. Now, Dany knew, it usually meant he had done something that would only indebt them further to some Essosi noble. Gauging the level of pride in his pale eyes, she guessed Viserys must have done something very big indeed.

“Dany, meet Missandei of Naath. She’s your age, and can read and write, and she’s going to be your new handmaiden.” He clapped his hands together delightedly. “She even speaks Valeryian! I know how you’ve been wanting to practice our mother tongue with someone else, and I want you to promise me that you’ll stop speaking with that barbaric Pentoshi accent you’ve picked up here.”

He looked between the two girls. "Well," he said, impatient. "Say something!"

Dany picked at her dress. “Do you like cats?” She asked softly. The girl, Missandei, lifted her head.

“If you like them, my lady,” she said in a voice like wind. Dany offered a little smile, and the girl tilted her head, the shadow of a smile on her lips. In the light, her eyes were gold, not brown. Viserys clapped his hands again sharply, breaking the moment.

“Well, you’ve been acquainted now. There will be plenty of time for making friends later. Now, for your _real_ gifts, Dany.”

He opened the door again, ushering in two servants carrying large chests. When they had set them down on the floor, he sent them away again, eager to show off what treasures he had bought or borrowed.

He opened the first chest, and Dany gasped. It was full to the brim with rubies, gold bangles and chains, circlets and rings, emeralds and amethysts the size of her fist. Beneath that, she saw many silks of different colors and patterns, some embroidered with gold thread. Across from her, Missandei was struggling to conceal her awe. Dany could scarcely believe her own eyes. She had been gifted trinkets by Illyrio or Barristan, a gold ring or a silk shift, but never so many riches at once.

"These are presents from our supporters, Targaryen loyalists across Essos. It took a full year to amass this amount of treasure." 

Dany frowned for just a moment, not long enough to be noticed. Her brother told her they had secret followers, supporters of her brother Rhaegar, who had died many years ago before she was born. They had never sent presents, though. She wondered, not for the first time, if her brother was being truthful. But she could not resist the glow of so much richness. Even as she knew she could never keep it, she wished she could keep even a single gem. She sighed. 

Aware of the effect he was having, Viserys lowered the lid of the chest slowly, with it snuffing out the brilliance of all that treasure. His smile was all teeth as he opened the second chest. Dany had to step forward to see inside this one, as it was not as full and opulent as the one before it. She leaned over the chest, hair falling in her eyes as she took in the gift inside. Three perfectly egg shaped stones, one cream, one red, and one green. They lay nestled in a bed of raw silk. Dany reached out a hand to touch them, but Viserys slapped her hand sharply. Ser Barristan stepped forward, brow creased, but did not intervene.

“These are not for touching, Dany. They are far too precious to risk you breaking them.” He frowned.“Don’t wake the dragon, Daenerys.”

Dany withdrew her hand to her chest, feeling it stinging. Ser Barristan had his hand on his sword, but even he would not raise a hand to her brother, much as Dany suspected he might like to. Viserys looked around at his sister cradling her hand, the knight looking dour, and the new handmaiden taking in the scene, and his fox smile dimmed. He went to Dany’s side, put his hands on her shoulders. He pulled her in to his side, and she could smell sweet wine and incense on him.

“These are dragon eggs, Dany,” he whispered, head bent low to her ear. “Ancient relics of our ancestors. Your forebear Visenya rode into battle on a dragon that hatched from an egg just like these.”

Forgetting her hand, Dany turned to him, eyes wide. “And can I hatch a dragon, like she did?”

Viserys barked out a laugh. “No, sweet sister. I am the last true dragon.These eggs are nothing more than glorified stones now, but they are worth a hundred times their weight in gold and horses with you holding them. A prize gift for a princess like you.”

His eyes lit up. “Imagine, sister,” he whispered fiercely. “Me, on the throne of our ancestors, a true dragon claiming his birthright. And you by my side. Even if these are mere relics, picture the fear we will inspire. The wealth and respect we'll be given.”

Dany could not picture it. In her mind, when she imagined the throne of which her brother always spoke, it was always as a charred mess of metal and ash. She nodded though, lowering her eyes and wondering what it would feel like to cradle a dragon egg in her arms.

Viserys stooped to kiss her on her temple, smoothing away her hair from her face. “Get dressed in your new clothes, Dany. We have important guests arriving for your nameday and I want you to look every inch the princess you are.” He looked her up and down, mouth turning down as if her fine silk shift were already dingy and tattered compared to the gifts he had brought.

He swept out of the room, and Barristan followed after a firm hug and a blessing were bestowed on her fair head. Alone with Missandei and the chests of treasure, Dany suddenly felt as though she ought to be minding herself. She smoothed her dress down, and crossed to her alcove with its little table and chair, already laid out with a platter of figs and and pitcher of water.

“Please, sit.” She gestured for the young girl to join her at the table. Padding carefully on slippered feet, the young girl came and sat. She was taking in her new surroundings with shrewd eyes now, raking over every shadow and nook of the bedchamber. Dany nibbled on a fig as she watched the girl adapt. She had never had a personal handmaiden before. Illyrio graciously allowed her and Viserys to use his servants, but Dany rarely had cause to do so. Viserys liked to order them about, finding frivolous and absurd tasks for the kitchen maids or hall servants to perform.

“You are from Naath,” Dany said. The girl nodded. “Tell me about it,” Dany begged. She had spent her whole life on the streets on Pentos or confined to the halls of Illyrio’s house. She dreamed of distant lands, the kind described in the books Barristan read to her.

The young girl met her eyes steadily. “Naath,” she began. “Is an island. The air is filled with butterflies…”

❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖

Late in the afternoon, Dany dressed herself in a fine blue dress of sheer silk. Missandei helped her to fasten a sash of a deeper blue across her breast, tying it in the back to trail on the floor behind her. Her long hair was combed and scented with bitter orange oil.

“Would you like me to braid your hair, my lady?” Missandei asked. Dany agreed. Her hair was usually left down, or if Viserys was around, twisted back with combs and pins in the style of their mother. Dany sighed. It had been a long time since her brother had pulled her hair back as he once did, with the pins of pearl from their mother. Those pins were long gone.

The handmaiden worked on her hair, tugging and twisting it into many strands of small braids. These braids she fastened with little gold beads, so that when Dany turned in the mirror, each one caught the light like a little star. Sitting before her great mirror, she toyed with Rhaego’s fur, half watching the handmaiden in her work and half gazing out of the window towards the harbor. As she watched the ocean sway against the white cliffs, a ship emerged on the horizon. Black and hulking, with masts that reached for the clouds and a sail of silver and white that billowed out in the wind. A white wolf, snarling, stamped across the ship’s flag.

“Look, Missandei!” Dany said excitedly. “I have never seen that flag before. Do you know it?”

Missandei shook her head. “Never, my lady. It is not an Essosi ship.”

Dany clasped her hands. “From Westeros, then. I wonder if it is a ship from the cursed north.”

The handmaiden tilted her head, meeting Dany’s eyes in the mirror. “Cursed north, my lady?”

Dany nodded. “Ser Barristan taught me about the history of the world. When R’hllor and the Old Gods made the world, they made it perfect, with magic and people and dragons. Then a terrible king tried to control the magic, and built a wall to keep it from the rest of the world. And the gods cursed him to live in winter in.. in perpetuity.”

She finished, proud that she had incorporated the big words that Ser Barristan used when he told the story.

Missandei smiled. “In perpetuity?”

Dany nodded again. “It means forever. Forever and a day!”

“Forever and a day and one hundred years!” Missandei chimed.

“Forever and a day and one hundred years, and a thousand hours!” Dany cheered. “In perpetuity!”

They laughed together. Missandei added another twist to Dany’s hair, and Dany hummed, turning her gaze back to the open window. Outside, the strange ship had disappeared in the harbor, now crowded with familiar trading ships and bustling people. The flurry of activity calmed her, and she watched busy people pop in and out of shops and stalls, imagining what it might be like to walk among them.

Missandei turned her head to the side with a gentle hand to add a new braid, and Dany caught sight of the black cloud from that morning. Now, it was massive, stretching across the whole of the far side of the city. She could clearly see now that it was not a black plume of smoke, but many thousands of black and brown horses and their riders. She squinted her eyes, trying to draw them into focus.

“Missandei, can you see—who are those people out there?”

The young girl paused, leaning forward.

“I could not say, my lady—“

The door swung wide open, and Viserys poked his fair head inside. Seeing them dressed and seated, he came in, his fox smile growing wide.

“Daenerys, look at you!” He sat himself beside her. “What a vision you are. You’ll make a good impression on our guests.” He tilted her chin in his hand, appraising her face, the beads in her hair. He fingered one, expression inscrutable. “How fitting. I’ve never seen you with your hair braided like this before.” His tone was unreadable, and Dany squirmed.

“It was Missandei,” she whispered, tugging on a braid in her own hand. Viserys caught her hand in his and clasped it firmly.

“It’s time to come with me, sister. I have someone very important for you to meet. Someone very special indeed.”

He led her out of the room quickly, and Dany managed only to give a half wave to Missandei before she was yanked through the hall and down towards the great hall. Afternoon sunlight filtered through the wooden screens in the windows, leaving dappled shadows on the white floors. Servants and cooks darted about carrying heavy trays of meats and fine cheeses, more than Dany had ever seen before. There were unfamiliar faces in the uniform of their servants, new staff fillings rooms with incenses and cushions for sitting.

“Viserys, what’s going on,” Dany whispered, tugging on his sleeve. He shushed her, warning her not to wake the dragon as he pulled her along through the commotion.

They reached the great hall, which had been emptied of its usual furnishings and decorated with lavish floor cushions and low tables with roasted meats and tall jugs of wine. Strange men stood by the walls, their tanned hands gripping curved swords tightly. They had long hair, longer even than Viserys’ shoulder length locks, and deep black eyes that glittered in the candlelight. Illyrio sat facing them, pale and sweating. Across from him, with his great back turned, was a man larger than any Dany had ever seen before. His inky braid trailed down his back to the floor, and it was braided with dozens of silver bells.

Illyrio saw them and sucked in a breath, fanning himself. “Ah, Viserys. Daenerys. Finally.”

He gestured for them to sit. Viserys guided Dany to a cushion directly next to the giant man. When she hesitated, he gave her a subtle pinch and she winced, lowering herself to the floor. She refused to look up, afraid of these strangers that watched her so intently.

Illyrio said something to the stranger in a language she didn’t understand. The stranger replied in the same language, and Dany trembled at his booming voice.

Viserys prodded her with a bony finger. “Daenerys,” he said through gritted teeth. “Say hello to our most welcome guest.”

Dany lifted her head. Her eyes met deep black ones, cold and steely. The stranger tracked her like a wolf. A predatory smile swept his face, and he bared his teeth in a wicked snarl.

“ _Yer zheanae sekke_.”

Illyrio, still rapidly fanning himself, broke into a nervous grin. “Ah, aha! What a compliment. Daenerys, he said you’re very beautiful!”

Somehow this only put Dany more ill at ease. Being called beautiful had never been a pleasant experience in her life. Something told her it was also true with this man.

The stranger picked up a goblet and filled it to the brim with wine, then handed it to Dany. She took it, and his gaze never broke, holding her down as though she were a meadow mouse caught beneath a hawk’s piercing gaze.

He gestured for her to drink, and she did, sipping from the full goblet. The wine was sickly sweet and spiced with whole cloves that caught and stuck in her throat. She swallowed, not daring to cough or show weakness. The man seemed to approve, and he sat back on his cushion, still observing her closely.

“Who are you?” Dany asked. Her mouth was dry, and her fists clenched in her lap.

The man’s dark face split into a grin and he laughed. The little bells in his long braid shook and chimed. The sound filled the room, silvering bells echoing against the bare walls. He leaned forward on his arms, put his nose right to hers and she could smell his breath and feel his heat against her skin.

“Khal Drogo.”

❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖

Missandei had seen many sights in her short life, and travelled many miles. She had known loneliness, and kindness, and cruelty. But in no place before had she experienced all these things at once, so mixed as to seem one emotion.

Her lady, Daenerys, was easy to attend to. She rose with the sun and slept with the sunset, ate when instructed, and spent most of her days reading books with her old knight, or gazing upon the stone eggs. She drifted through the large house like a ghost, with her strange white hair and skin, seeming carved entirely of alabaster. She reminded Missandei of a pieridae butterfly, a graceful slip of white that floated in sunny air currents on her home of Naath.

Days passed slowly. Missandei would rise and help her lady dress, then watch sadly as she was taken away by the brother to be paraded before the khal and his men. Missandei never spoke to them, but watched them. She watched them drink to excess, gorging themselves on fatty meats. She watched them lech on women in the kitchens and halls. She watched as Daenerys sat pale between her brother and the khal. And Missandei watched both men covet the girl.

Once, she asked her lady why her brother was so cruel to her. What it meant when he warned of a sleeping dragon. Dany had laughed and said “Viserys is the dragon. All Targaryens have dragon blood. To wake the dragon is to invite his anger.”

She then explained that her brother was all she had in the world, and that she was also all he had, too. Though her voice had been sad when she spoke, her faced had been closed off. That expression, blank and secret, made Missandei unhappy. So she turned the subject to differing dialects of Valeryian, hoping to bring back a smile to her lady's face. 

Privately, Missandei thought that Viserys was no dragon, but a street dog on a rich man’s leash. A man who only cared for what he could possess. 

When she was not performing her duties as handmaiden, Missandei wrote. Her lady, once she learned of this habit, had requested ink and parchment be sent to her rooms. Missandei passed hours writing about everything she saw. Each new thing she learned she painstakingly inscribed on paper, drying it with her warm breath and folding it neatly into envelopes which she hid in her linen pockets. Letters to her lost brother, or stories where she portrayed the heroine. Some in Valeryian, some in Naathi. But never in the common tongue. And she kept track of the days in a little calendar she kept inside her dress, marking the phases of the moon and the passing of weeks. By the end of the second week, she had a little library kept secret in her wardrobe.

Two weeks to the day when she first arrived in Pentos, Missandei was sitting beside her lady at dinner. Daenerys had insisted that Missandei be allowed to sit by her side, and though she would have preferred to sup peacefully in her room, Missandei was grateful for the chance to sit between her lady and Viserys. She ate silently, only speaking to translate a phrase in Dothraki when her lady bid.

The khal sat in silence as well. He loomed over the low table and cracked bones with his teeth. His eyes would trail over Daenerys’ slight frame, his leer apparent even in low evening light. Missandei knew her lady could feel it, the weight of his attentions. If she was being to listless at the table, her brother would pinch her sharply under the hem of her skirts, where he thought no one would see. But Missandei saw. She always saw Viserys in his violence. His cruel hands, the same hands that peeled fruits and fed his sister before the eyes of their adoring host, those hands would also inflict pain when no one could see. But Missandei could see. She saw, and she wrote it down. And she remembered.

In her stories, Viserys was a cruel dragon, like the dragons her lady described when she spun tales of ancient warrior queens and conquering kings. In her stories, Daenerys took up a great arrakh and cut the dragon’s throat. In her stories, Missandei always returned home to Naath, to her brother, to tell him of dragons and princesses.

She was imagining just such a tale, when across from her, Illyrio cleared his throat. His watery eyes darted about the room, and his dry lips cracked as he spoke.

“My honored guests,” he began, then wet his lips. “A fortnight has passed since Daenerys’ fourteenth nameday, and since the arrival of the great khal.” He nodded to Drogo, who watched him, lips curled.

Illyrio cleared his throat again. “I have enjoyed your presence in my house very much. A Targaryen restoration has been in my prayers for many years, and finally, it seems it is within reach.”

Daenerys shifted next to Missandei, and they exchanged a glance. Illyrio cleared his throat again, then coughed. His hacking extended for several minutes as the guests sat in silence. Only the Khal seemed unperturbed, cracking bones with his teeth and slurping down the marrow. Each bone he threw to the floor shattered into splinters.

Illyrio finally regained some control and took a shuddering breath. He gulped down some wine, and waved at Viserys, who continued smoothly.

“I have the great honor of accepting the khal’s proposal of marriage for my sister,” he said. “With this alliance, my birthright and the khal’s army will lead us to a great victory in Westeros. The Iron Throne will once again belong to the rightful heirs.” 

He spoke with vigor, and he had that mad dog look that Missandei knew. 

Daenerys startled. “Marriage?” Her voice was shrill. “I don’t want to be married!” She looked around, trying to catch the eye of Illyrio or Ser Barristan. They avoided her gaze, averting their eyes, shamefast. She grasped at Viserys’ sleeves. “Vis, please don’t do this! I don’t want to leave here!”

Viserys shook her off. Missandei knew he was trying to keep his fox face calm, but his teeth were bared and his eyes were angry.

“Quiet, brat! This is a great favor I’m doing for us both. With you as the khal’s bride, I’ll have my army and my gold to take back my rightful place the throne.” His tone turned wheedling and sweet. “Sister, when I have claimed my place on the throne, you will be a true princess and a Targaryen bride again, as it was meant to be.”

Daenerys was wide eyed with fear. Missandei took her pale hand in hers beneath table and squeezed, trying to bring her some calm. She could feel the girl shaking, and she couldn’t blame her. They had both seen how these men and their khal behaved with women. Grabbing them, forcing them into their beds and jeering at them. Dany had born the brunt of the khal’s affections these past weeks.

Missandei had been able to do nothing but watch in horror each day as the khal stroked her lady’s hair, told her gruesome things that she could not even understand. Missandei hated Viserys for what he did to his sister, but she knew it would be nothing like what the khal would do to her if he had her. The khal would make her lady a slave. Lesser than a horse, just chattel to be bred and kept.

“I won’t do it! I won’t marry the khal, Viserys! Please, don’t do this, don’t do this to me!” her lady begged.

A sharp slap rang out. Daenerys clutched her face, stricken. Viserys was panting, hand still raised as if to strike again. At once, Illyrio and Ser Barristan were on their feet. Illyrio attempted to placate Viserys, while the old knight went to the young girl.

“Viserys, really. You don’t want to upset the khal, do you? Think of your alliance.” Illyrio stuttered and whined, and Viserys looked quickly to their savage guest, but the khal seemed disinterested in the action. He was picking his teeth with a shard of bone.

Missandei helped her lady up. The old knight was red in the face. “Viserys, this has gone far enough. I can’t believe you, this is disgraceful!”

Missandei realized that the old knight had never seen the cruelty Viserys was capable of. Had never seen how he raised his hand to his sister’s face in her room, or how his lips found her face when no one watched. She clenched her fist. No dragon in her stories was ever this cruel, and no knight would every allow it to happen.

The khal stood. At his great height, he was well over a full head above every person in the room. He spoke in a great booming voice, and Missandei felt afraid.

“What in damnation is he saying!” Viserys growled. Around them, the other members of the khal’s party laughed and jeered. Illyrio was pale, paler than Missandei had ever seen him.

“He said you have both dishonored him tonight. Your insolence and the disobedience of your sister must be punished. For this crime, he has demanded that you put your sister away, until she agrees to the marriage. No man may look on her, and no man may speak to her until she has agreed to wed him. If you do not do this, you will forfeit your army, and your lives.”

Viserys paled. “And what if she never agrees?”

The khal laughed again and spoke. The translation was hardly necessary, so clear was the intent behind his malice. Missandei suddenly knew her fate, and resigned herself to it. Beside her, her lady was still staring with wide eyes at her brother, tears staining her cheeks and lovely dress. She had no idea, Missandei knew. No idea of the fate that awaited her.

llyrio caught again. “He says…he says you had better hope that doesn’t happen.”

The khal barked an order, and then his men were everywhere. Their hands were on Missandei’s wrists, and they were taking her and her lady up to their chambers. Behind them, Viserys was screaming.

“How dare you override my claims! I am the dragon, you hear me?!” He screamed and screamed, and then was silent. Daenerys choked back a sob. The khal’s men pushed her up into the stairwell, and Missandei followed.

As they were led up the stairs, Missandei dragged behind her lady, Daenerys look over her shoulder. Her voice was weak from tears.

“What does this mean, Missandei? What will become of us?”

Missandei tried to meet her gaze steadily, despite the trembling fear she felt in her heart. She tried to keep her voice from breaking.

“It means, my lady, that we will be locked away. For a long time.”

“In perpetuity?” Daenerys was weeping again.

Missandei nodded sadly. Beyond the walls she could still hear the noises of the city. She wondered how silent it would be where they were going. How far it would be. If the sun would still reach them there. She closed her eyes, voice finally breaking.

“In perpetuity.”

❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖

Essos, the City of Pentos, Star of R’hllor. Year 298, year of the Horse, the fourth moon.

They spent three weeks locked in Daenerys’ bedchambers. Food was delivered to them twice a day, at sunrise and at sundown. No servant was allowed to speak to them, and only women servants could provide their meals. They had no word from the khal, or Illyrio, or even Viserys.

Missandei tried to comfort her lady. Her lady, who even in the darkest hours, still found a reason to smile. Some days, Missandei did not know was who comforting whom. Missandei wrote down stories, and Daenerys would read them, seriously at first, then in increasingly silly voices until they both collapsed in giggles. She did an impression of a Westerosi nobleman, pompous and aloof, and her voice would strain to be low and gravelly, and Missandei would wait and wait until she knew Daenerys was truly focused, and then she would make a face to hear those peals of laughter at her broken concentration.

Missandei wrote for herself, too. She detailed the events of the night that led them to their captivity, marked the days in her calendar. When she was lost in her writing, her lady would sit in the window. The balcony had been closed off and the tomcat, Rhaego, dispelled from their chambers. So her lady would sit and watch the city, and her face would look so somber. In those moments, Missandei could imagine her as a princess looking over her kingdom.

On the seventh day of their captivity, Daenerys called Missandei over, and begged to dress her in her fine clothes. Missandei had refused, at first. She had never worn silks meant for ladies of the court, or heavy jewels.

“Please, Missandei, you would be so lovely!” her lady begged. And so she agreed. Daenerys dressed her with all the gravity of a general dressing for battle. Each drape of silk was just so, and each golden bangle stacked so as to nearly cover her arms in gold.

“My lady, I won’t be able to raise my arms!” Missandei cried. Daenerys laughed. “That’s how it is, to be dressed in such riches. You’re not supposed to be able to move, I think.” She frowned, searching for another bauble.

Missandei watched her delve into her treasure chest. “I shouldn’t be wearing all your fine things.”

Her lady shrugged. She plucked a ruby pin from the pile, and fastened it to Missandei’s breast. “It doesn’t really matter,” she said. “None of it is truly mine, anyway.” She gestured to the room. “All of this is borrowed, or held just out of reach. I can wear it, if I behave. I can sleep here, if I obey.”

Stepping back, she admired her creation. Missandei tried to twist and turn to see herself in the mirror as she saw her lady do, but found she could hardly move under the weight.

Her lady smiled, but it was a sorrowful one. “Borrowed things are a heavy burden.”

And Missandei knew she was right.

On the second day of the third week, a missive came from the khal in the form of a serving girl accompanied by one of the khal’s men. They entered during the morning meal, which consisted of wheat porridge and dates.

“The khal has decided where his bride will serve her punishment.”

Missandei exchanged a look with Daenerys. They would not remain here? Was it not enough to be locked away in this chamber?

Her lady voiced these thoughts aloud. “Where are we being sent? Why can I not serve my time here? We have been locked away for weeks, is that not enough for your khal?”

Missandei winced. Her lady could be strong when often she was timid, but the moments in which she spoke out tended always to lead to dire consequences. Surely as she thought the words, the khal’s missive snarled and beat his arakh against the floor.

“Silence! You will take one chest, and one servant.” He pointed to Missandei. “This one.”

The serving lady brought in a small chest, empty, and set it down. “Take only what you need, nothing of value is allowed by the khal.”

Daenerys looked quickly to her dragon eggs, which were stowed safely in the windowsill, wrapped in silk. “What about my eggs?”

The khal’s man sniffed, looking them over. “These? Rocks. Take them.” He laughed. “Worth nothing.”

Daenerys stomped her foot. “Aren’t I important to your khal? Why am I being treated this way! Shouldn’t he be here, courting me if he wants to marry me so badly?”

Once again, the khal’s missive barked a harsh laugh. “Foolish girl. You are not khaleesi. Only khaleesi is so important.” He looked her up and down, sneering. “You had chance. Now, you pay.”

He turned to leave, shouting out his last message. “Leave at dawn tomorrow.”

Missandei later wrote down that exchange as her lady slept in the bed beside hers. She herself could not sleep a wink; every time she closed her eyes, visions of men with chains and spears filled them and she would gasp, clawing at the air. Nightmares, slavers, men who imprisoned girls and kept them like jewels to be hidden and coveted. They danced in her mind like flames.

She raised her head to look at her lady, fast asleep. Daenerys slept with her eyes half open, slitted like a cat. Missandei could tell when she was truly asleep by the soft breaths and the slow rise and fall of her shoulders beneath the sheets.

She crept over to pass her hand over her lady’s eyes as she did every night to close them. Her fingers met damp skin.

From her lady’s sleeping eyes, tears dripped down her cheeks.

❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖

Dany raised her bound hands to wipe at her brow. The midday sun was beating down hard upon the caravan, and the heat was unbearable.

Ahead, the khal rode with his khalasar. Drogo rode a black stallion, black as obsidian, black as the braid he wore, uncut in his great victories. Dany had learned a little about the Dothraki customs in the few weeks Drogo and his men had been guests in her former home. Nothing that could have prepared her for this, though.

Missandei rode at her side. Like Dany, her hands were bound, and she rode pinned between the hard saddle and the sweating body of a Dothraki rider. The sound of many bells filled the air, and the sound of hoofbeats against rock. They had been riding since dawn without pause, leaving the city far behind. The Dothraki were used to long voyages on horseback, but Dany was not. Her backside hurt, and the constant jostling made her sick.

Viserys rode with them too, and though his hands were not bound, her brother rode surrounded by an armed host. He had been given a dappled mare to ride alone, while Dany and Missandei rode the famed stallions with their captors. He was displeased by this, clearly having assumed he would ride a stallion, but could not express this around the khal. Dany watched his pale head from behind sadly. The bump on his head from where a member of the khalasar had hit him during his outburst had since disappeared, but the guarded way he carried himself remained. He had changed so much from when they were children. He was a different man; he was feral, manic.

They rode for many hours, until the white hot sun turned blue and the air chilled. Stars rose in the sky, and the landscape burned at the edges from the sunset. Dany could not help but to close her eyes as they grew heavy, and soon she was lulled by the sway of the horses to sleep.

Much later, she awoke with the sound of screaming. The Dothraki had stopped the caravan, and were stood in formation, waving and stomping and wailing. The sound pierced her heart, and she searched for Missandei. She found her handmaiden’s golden eyes in the dark, scared and questioning. Dany blinked slowly, hoping to communicate her presence to the girl. After a moment, Missandei blinked back. She was alright.

Looking around, there was little to see. The sky was still dark, though the faintness of the stars indicated dawn was near. The Dothraki had built a fire, but they crowded it, leaping over it in their strange wild dance. The light scarcely lit the ground around them for all the dancing men. Searching, Dany found a shape she could just make out in the darkness. A great tower, so tall she could hardly see the top.

She could hear waves, too, she realized. They were near the ocean, but not the ocean she knew. The seas around Pentos were calm and warm blue, gentle waves that sounded as a rocking against smooth cliffs. These waves crashed and churned.

There was nothing to do but wait. Hands bound and seated in dry grass, Dany once again drifted to sleep, this time listening to the waves that broke against her ears.

❖ ❖ ❖

Rough hands shook Dany awake. Her eyes flew open, mind startled by the touch and the bright light of morning. Viserys stood over her, his face red from sun and sweat.

“Get up. We’re here.”

He stepped away, giving her space to stand. She struggled to her feet, hands still tied. In the daylight, she saw they had stopped in the middle of a great sea of grass by the sea. The waves she had heard in the night were closer than she had first pictured, just a stone’s throw from where she stood. The edge of the cliff was far above the sea however, a dizzying height. Looming over the water was a tower built of stone. Not a tower, she realized, but a lighthouse.

Four Dothraki were hammering away at it with great stone hammers and chisels. They were boarding up the exits, she realized. The windows and portholes had already been barred and boarded. Her small chest was being loaded into the remaining entrance. Dany prayed they hadn’t opened it, hadn’t found the eggs or the gold coins she had hidden away. The Dothraki may not care about her eggs, but Viserys would. And she had to keep them safe.

Swaying slightly, Dany stepped over to Missandei, who was still curled up on the ground. Dany nudged her with a foot, prompting one golden eye to open, then both. Missandei sprang to her feet and rushed to her side.

“My lady,” she said. “Where are we?”

“I don’t know,” Dany said in a low voice. Drogo was watching them from the camp his men had made. She made fried eye contact, then averted her eyes.

“I think that’s where they’re putting us,” she said. “In the lighthouse.”

Missandei shivered in the sea breeze. “It’s cold here. Are we still in Essos?”

Dany shrugged. “Does it matter?” she said bitterly. Men were approaching them, amongst them the khal.

He stopped right in front of Dany. His eyes were rimmed with black kajal and his teeth gleamed white as he spoke.

Missandei translated. “He says this is your last chance. To wed him, or be locked in the tower until you repent.”

Around her, all eyes were watching. Viserys most intent of all, his face a tortured mix of fear and disgust.“Daenerys, think carefully,” he warned, but she could hear the break in his voice. He was scared, but even in his fear he was vile. He would have sold her for money and horses, she realized. Her heart broke. He was no dragon, she thought. A dragon would not sell another dragon for riches or glory.

She looked on her brother sadly. “We were the last dragons, brother. How could you do this?”

He glared. “I am the dragon, Dany. I , and I alone. You were supposed to do as you were told!”

Dany raised her her head defiantly. “No!”

She turned to Khal Drogo. “I will not wed you. Not now, and not ever, even if I am locked away for a thousand years, I will never be yours!”

A thin, wiry Dothraki man started to translate, but the khal held his hand up. He stepped nearer, bent low so his face was right in hers.

“Mistake,” he growled. And then Dany was being picked up and thrown.

Her back hit the inside wall of the tower first, and she groaned. Missandei rushed to her, climbing through the small doorway before she could be tossed. Dany clambered up, staggering forward. She glared into the eyes of the khal, standing outside. She could feel a slow trickle of blood down her face where she must have hit her head. She lifted her bound hands and swiped at it. Her fingers came away red. She felt dizzy. No one had ever made her bleed before.

“Daenerys!” She heard Viserys shout. Then a muffled thump, like a kick. “How could you do that to her, you swine!”

She looked for him, and found his white head surrounded by men. He was kicking and punching at them wildly. His eyes were crazed.

“That’s my sister! You don’t throw her! I will make you pay for this!” He grabbed for a rider’s arakh, pulling from the sheath. Mistake. Dany knew as soon as he’d done it, and he seemed to as well. Her heart clenched and she tried to lean out of the doorway. The khal’s men blocked her and she cried.

“Viserys, no!”

She heard the stab before she saw it. A sickening crunch, then a thud as the body of her brother hit the ground. She could not see the blood, for all she saw was red. Blood filled her vision. Was it her blood? She wiped at her eyes again, the ropes of her bindings scraping her lids.

“Viserys!” she cried hoarsely. She dropped to her knees, lowering herself so she could look for his face. Lilac eyes met amethyst ones.

“Dany.”

And he was gone. And she was alone.

The khal wiped his arakh on Viserys’ tunic. Then he strutted over to the doorway. One rough hand caressed Dany’s face before shoving her back inside the dark tower. Someone threw a large sack and a crate inside. They began to board up the doorway. Hammering thuds made Dany’s head ring and she tried to cover her ears. The khal laughed his great booming laugh, and all his men joined in.

“Take this.”

Something clattered on the stone floor. Dany opened her eyes and looked. It was a knife. A tiny, silver knife with a three headed dragon carved into the handle. Dany choked. It had belonged to Viserys, and before that, her brother, Rhaegar. It was a slap in the face.

Before she could say anything in retort, the last slat of wood and the last nail was hammered in place, leaving them in total darkness. Only a few slats of light shone through crevices in the stones, high up in the walls. Too high to reach.

Finally, Dany lowered herself to the ground. Missandei came to her and put her bound hands around her, like a protective circle. Dany slumped against the smaller girl. Beyond the walls, they heard the sound of hoofbeats growing fainter and fainter. Now they were truly alone. For the first time, Dany realized how alone she was. How lonely she felt now, and how much she missed being a trinket in the jewel box of someone else. At least then, she had a life. A future, however grim. Now there was only the tower.

For the first time in days, she wept. Her tears coursed down her face in hot streams. She felt a wail begin in her throat. It caught and stuck, but it would not abate until she let it out. So she did.

When she was done, she sniffled. “I’m sorry,” she said into the dark. She could not see Missandei. “For everything. You should not be here, Missandei.”

She felt the young girl shift beside her, holding Dany closer in her arms. Dany took a trembling breath, trying to match her breathing to the steady rhythm of her handmaiden. Both their hearts were beating fast. In the darkness, Missandei took a deep breath and blew it out. Dany felt it against her cheek and turned to seek out more warmth.

Missandei stroked Dany’s hair. “Naath,” she began. “Is an island. The air is filled with butterflies…”


End file.
